The Ailments of Peter Parker
by spidermanpls
Summary: Just a bunch of short stories that involve Peter being hurt/sick/in trouble and someone is there to rescue him. NO SPOILERS for Infinity War.
1. Migraine

It started in the middle of my algebra test.

I was casually calculating the probability of choosing exactly twelve blue M&Ms given x, y, z, blah blah blah. Honestly, it was the type of thing I could do in my sleep, so I wasn't trying extremely hard. I was almost done with the sixth problem when I got this really high-pitched ringing in my ears.

At first I tried to ignore it, but before long it became too loud for me to focus on anything else. I looked around the room, wondering if anyone else could hear it, but they were all calmly working on their tests. No one was in pain, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I looked back down at my paper to continue working on the problems, but all the words were kind if fuzzy and dancing around the page. That didn't seem right. But I didn't want to ask the teacher if I could see the nurse because a) she seemed like she was in a really bad mood today and b) she was still mad at me for falling asleep in class yesterday. I had been exhausted from being out as Spiderman all night, but I obviously couldn't use that as an excuse.

I rested my head on the desk, trying to let the cool metal soothe the pain. It didn't work.

"Psst, Peter!" Ned whispered, his voice so low it could barely be heard two feet away. To me, it sounded like a freight train roaring through my head, bursting every blood vessel, trampling every nerve. I fought off a wave of nausea and blinked to steady the room that had begun to tilt before my eyes. Or maybe it was me who was tilting.

Luckily Ned was there to catch me as I tipped out of my seat, or I would have smacked my head on the floor before I knew that I was moving. My chair toppled over too, with a crash that sounded like two planets colliding to me, and like a mild annoyance to everyone else in the room.

"Mr. Parker, Mr. Leeds!" Mrs. Mendoza said sternly from the front of the room. Great, now she had another reason to be mad at me.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Mendoza!" Ned hastily apologized. I would have chimed in as well, but it felt like if I opened my mouth, I would probably throw up. No one wanted that.

Ned obviously saw that I wasn't okay, even apart from the whole falling-out-of-my-chair thing. He was saying something to our teacher, and I think she said something back, kind of angrily, but honestly, I could barely hear anything anymore. The pounding in my head was increasing exponentially, drowning out all other sounds.

Usually nothing can make me cry. At least, very few things can. My uncle dying in my arms, my mentor-ish type person getting mad and taking away the Spiderman suit, having a building dropped on me, those all made the cut. And apparently, a massive headache is also way up there.

Fortunately I did not start crying in the middle of class. That would have been the most embarrassing thing ever. I would have had to change schools. But I did come very close to it.

But because I have the best friend in the history of the universe, there wasn't a chance for a single tear to even enter my eyes. Ned saw that I was close to tears because of the pain, and though I was admittedly a little detached from the world (both my hearing and my sight being impaired by the intense pounding and spinning in my brain), I'm fairly positive he actually yelled at Mrs. Mendoza because she wouldn't let him take me to the nurse. Then he was grabbing me and walking out of the classroom, my left arm slung over his shoulder as I drooped and stumbled stupidly beside him.

I'm also fairly positive that he's going to have detention for the rest of the year for that.

The school nurse gave me some Advil to help ease my migraine, but because of my stupid enhanced metabolism, it did very little to help. And of course I couldn't keep asking her for more or it would look like I was addicted or something.

Ned sat with me the entire time, holding a trash can in case I needed to throw up (which I had unfortunately done about four times already). He did steal a couple more pills when the nurse wasn't looking, which I was incredibly grateful for. They didn't do a whole lot, but they at least cleared my vision a little bit.

"Thanks Ned," I whispered after I got my breath back from throwing up the fifth time.

"For what?" he asked innocently.

"For being here for me, dude."

Ned tilted his head to one side. "Oh, right," he said. "But, I mean, like, it's not something really special. You'd do the same for me."

"That doesn't make it not special, Ned," I smiled, squinting my eyes against the bright lights. Ned immediately noticed my discomfort and turned the lights off, despite the nurse's protests.

"Yeah, well, you're my best friend, Peter." He said simply. "I'll always be there for you."


	2. Robbery Gone Wrong Part I

**Sorry about the problems with the last chapter, and thanks to everyone who let me know there was a problem. Hopefully this one's fine.**

 **This chapter does have a little bit of Doctor Strange, but don't worry, there are no spoilers for Infinity War.**

It had been about a year and a half since I first started going out at night as Spiderman. During that time I had gotten beaten up pretty badly, but never anything more serious than bruises or a few small cuts. That is, until today.

I honestly did not mean to get shot. I didn't even want to have anything to do with the guys who shot me, but they were robbing a bank and that's something I can never ignore.

"Hey guys," I said cheerfully as I hung from the ceiling. They looked up in surprise and shock, not having heard me come in. Of course they immediately started shooting at me, like every single robber I'd stopped before them. Seriously, what was up with that?

"Ooh, that's not very nice," I admonished them sarcastically. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you guys didn't want me here." I used my webs to pull a gun out of one of the guy's hands, then swung it back to hit his face and knock him over. While this was happening, one of his buddies snuck up behind me and tried to hit me on the head with a baseball bat. I dodged and ripped it out of his hands, pulling him down and webbing his arms to the floor.

"That really hurt my feelings," I told him in a fake sad voice. "I thought we were just starting to get along."

"Go to hell Spider!" One of the robbers yelled and took a shot at me from behind a desk. I dodged easily.

"Dude, not cool bro." I webbed the gun up before he could shoot again, then flipped over the desk and knocked him out before surveying my work. Three robbers lay unconscious on the floor, each one partially covered in some of my webbing. I smiled in satisfaction; stopping robberies felt really good, especially since what happened to Uncle Ben. Scanning the room one last time, I turned to leave.

My spidey sense suddenly kicked in full force and dragged me into a crouching position to avoid the three bullets fired in quick succession which would have definitely blown my brains out. I spun on my right foot, still crouching, to see a fourth, previously unobserved robber shooting at me from just outside the bank vault. I looked around the room to formulate my plan of attack.

"I wouldn't try to run if were you, Spiderman," a gruff voice rang out.

"Oh yeah?" I shouted back, stealthily making my way behind the desks to get closer to him without him seeing me. "And why's that?"

"I wanna meet you," he said with feigned politeness. "I wanna say thank you on behalf of all the citizens of New York for being there to protect people who couldn't protect themselves."

I had managed to move across the room by this point, and popped my head up a few feet away from him.

"You're welcome," I said cheekily. He turned in surprise to look at me, but to _my_ surprise, he didn't try to kill me. He didn't even raise his gun.

"For protecting them," he repeated. I tilted my head, somewhat confused.

"Yep, you said that already."

"Those you could save."

"Yep."

"But you can't save them all. When you're not around, some people end up getting hurt. Some of them die."

I remained silent, completely bewildered on how to respond to that.

"New York has come to depend on you to fight for each citizen, to be there to protect everyone. But you don't always do that. Sometimes people are left in terrible situations, facing certain death, believing that you're gonna come swooping in to save the day. And you do, except when you don't."

I was unsure where this was going.

The robber continued. "I had a daughter," he said, his previously stoic voice softening a bit with every word. "She was twenty-two years old. Smart, kind, beautiful. She had a good job, parents who loved her, good friends, a fiance. But one day when she was coming home from work, some creep ambushes her."

My heart sank as I saw where this was going. I wanted to make him stop speaking. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

"He hurt her, raped her and killed her. My daughter, my precious daughter…" his voice broke, and thought he was going to dissolve into tears. He wavered, standing unsteadily on his feet. But then his voice hardened again, and a fierce new fire burned in his eyes.

"My daughter was murdered that night. And where was Spiderman? Three blocks away, stopping a couple of amateur thieves from robbing a _pawn shop_!" He spat the last words out with bitter contempt. "You could have saved my little girl's life that night, and instead you were busy protecting a shop full of ancient objects that no one cared about."

"I…I am _so_ sorry," I whispered sincerely. My heart ached for this man, and for his daughter which I could have saved.

"' _Sorry'_ doesn't fix it, Spiderman. You being sorry doesn't bring my baby back. And now you're going to pay for that."

He raised his gun and got off several shots before I could react. I brought my hands up and sprayed webbing into his eyes, temporarily blinding him and forcing him to drop the gun, then I webbed his arms to the wall behind him. He head snapped back and hit the wall at the same time, knocking him out cold.

"I'm really sorry," I whispered.

A burning sensation in my stomach made me look down, and I realized that I hadn't been fast enough. There were four bullet holes in my suit, and blood oozing out of each one. Oops.

Pointing my wrists at my stomach, I tried to use my webs as bandages to seal the wounds, at least for the time being. It worked, but I knew it wouldn't last long. Swinging across Queens all the way back to my apartment was a nightmare. Every second I was swinging between buildings, I was sure the webs were going to burst and I would fall and bleed to death in some dark alley, by myself.

Luckily I managed to make it back in one piece, but the bullet wounds hurt so much, I could barely walk. I changed into normal clothes on the roof, stumbled and dragged myself down to my apartment, and sagged wearily against the wall outside. I was breathing heavily by this point, and sweating profusely from the pain and exertion. It hurt so much, I wanted to lie down and go to sleep, or scream until someone came to help me. But I couldn't do either; not yet.

I steeled myself, wiped the sweat off my forehead, put on my bravest face, and slowly opened the door to my apartment.

"Aunt May?" I called cautiously. There was no response, and all the lights were off. Right, I smacked my forehead as I remembered what May had told me before I left for school this morning. She had to cover for a coworker at the grocery store tonight, so she wouldn't be home until about eight tomorrow morning. I looked at the clock. It was only just after two thirty. She wouldn't be back for almost six hours.

"At least I don't have school tomorrow," I said to myself. I closed the front door and collapsed on the couch in the living room. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and forget about my wounds, but also the life of that robber's daughter, who I didn't save. I wanted to forget them all, all the people who were counting on me to rescue them who I let down. I closed my eyes and let the tears slide down my cheeks as I wondered how many people were in danger at this very moment, and how many were going to die because I was too lazy to go save them.

"No, I'm not lazy!" I tried to convince myself. "I do the best I can. Besides, if I don't take care of myself now, I won't be able to save people later."

I desperately wanted to believe that, but part of me couldn't.

A jolt of pain shot through me again, and I realized that my bullet wounds were still untreated. Logically, I knew that I should go to a doctor. But they would need to know how I got shot, and I couldn't risk them finding out that I was Spiderman. My mind turned to Mr. Stark, but I waved that idea away, knowing that he would be so disappointed in me for not being able to take down a simple bank robber. There was no one else, I realized in despair.

I clumsily fished my phone out of my pocket, cursing when my hands, covered in blood from applying pressure to my wounds, got blood all over the screen. Oh well, I could clean it.

I scrolled through my contacts, searching for someone, _anyone_ who I could ask for help. I was about to give up hope when the last name on the list caught my eye; Doctor Stephen Strange. I'd only met the man once, but he had seemed to like me well enough, and he was a doctor, so…it couldn't hurt to _ask_ , right…?

It was getting harder to breathe, and the room was spinning around me. I could feel the couch becoming warm and wet from my blood (May was going to _kill_ me for ruining her couch), and I knew I didn't have much time before I would lose consciousness and probably never wake up again, so I made a decision. I made the call.

Doctor Strange picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" he groaned. He sounded tired, like he'd just woken up. Oops, I'd forgotten it was the middle of the night.

"Hi, Mister..I-I mean, Doctor Strange, sir," I stammered.

"Who the hell is this and why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" He snapped.

"Right, yeah, sorry about that, I-I didn't realize-" I tried to apologize.

"Just get to the point!"

"Yeah, sorry." I took a deep breath to steady myself, but it turned out to be a bad idea as it put more pressure on my injuries. Spots swam before my eyes, and I gasped a little in pain.

"Hello? Are you okay? Who is this?" Doctor Strange asked. He sounded less grouchy now, and more concerned. Right, doctor.

"Doctor Strange, you probably don't remember me," I said from between clenched teeth, trying to stop myself from crying out. "My name is Peter Parker, we met once at one of Mr. Stark's parties."

There was a brief pause, during which I assume he was trying to either remember me or find the right words to describe how he felt at being woken up at 2:30 in the morning. Or both.

Not both. It was the first one.

"Parker, yes, I remember you," he said at last. "Spiderman, right?"

More blood was seeping out now, and the blanket I had grabbed to stop the bleeding was dyed red and completely useless. Was it just me or was it also getting really hot in there and really hard to breathe?

"You're a medical doctor, right?" I gasped, then continued before he could answer. "I need your help, please, I need you to help me right now."

"What's the matter?"

"I've been shot."


	3. Robbery Gone Wrong Part II

" _What's the matter?"_

" _I've been shot."_

I heard a sharp intake of breath, then a serious, no-nonsense attitude came over him.

"Where are you right now?" He asked.

"At-at my apartment, in Qu-Queens." Words were becoming more difficult to say correctly. I really just wanted to go to sleep.

"No no nonono, what ever you do, do _not_ go to sleep," Strange yelled in my ear. Weird, I must've said that last part out loud. "Sleep is the worst thing for you right now. Just stay awake, buddy, I'll be there in a few seconds."

A few seconds? I don't care where he was, there was no way on Earth he could be here in a few seconds. Sparks began coming out of nowhere a few feet in front of the couch, and a glowing orange circle appeared, through which Doctor Strange stepped professionally, if not a bit hastily, into my living room.

Okay then, literally a few seconds.

"That was awesome," I croaked. Doctor Strange's mouth tightened visibly at the sight of me in all my blood-stained glory, and he hurriedly turned on all the lights in the room.

"What happened?" He snapped, opening the plastic case he had brought with him and tearing my shirt open to inspect the wounds.

"Bank robber… shot me…" I gasped.

"How long ago?"

I squinted, trying to remember the timetable of the night. "Um, maybe half an hour? It took a….while to get….home." I could only speak in short gasps now. Even though all the lights were on, the room somehow seemed darker than before. I opened and closed my eyes several times, trying to clear my vision.

"How'd you get home, kid? Why didn't you go to a doctor?" Strange sounded strangely worried.

"I swung with my webs," I choked out. My eyes were getting so heavy, I just had to close them. I wanted to sleep.

"Hey, no no no buddy, you've got to stay awake. If you go to sleep you could go into shock, all your organs could shut down and you'll die. Do you understand? If you go to sleep, you could _die_."

"But I'm so tired," I whimpered. I was vaguely aware that I sounded like a weak, pathetic child, but I was also exhausted so I didn't care.

Strange paused his work for a second to grab my face in both his hands. He turned my head toward him so I had no option but to look directly into his eyes.

"Peter, listen to me," he said softly, a hint of panic underlying his steady voice. "You need to stay awake, okay? You're young, you still have an entire life to live and a world to save. You're not done with the world, and the world's not done with you. You have to stay awake."

My head felt light and airy and heavy all at the same time. I was having trouble making sense of my surroundings, but I managed to process his words.

"Okay," I whispered. Strange let out a brief sigh of relief before resuming his work.

"Keep talking to me," he said. "It'll help you stay awake."

"Okay," I said again, but made no effort to speak more.

Strange sighed again. "C'mon kid, you've got to work with me here," he said. "Say something, anything."

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…" I started singing jokingly in a slurred voice. Strange chuckled, which seemed odd for him. Or, dare I make that joke, _strange_ for him. But then he turned serious again.

"Why didn't you go to a doctor right away, Peter?"

"Couldn't," I answered shortly. "They would have found out who I am."

"You mean Spiderman?"

I nodded, but at a stern glance from the doctor, elaborated vocally.

"I can't risk anyone else finding out my identity. They might hurt May or Ned."

"And they are…?"

"May's my aunt, and Ned's my best friend."

"You don't have parents?"

I shook my head slowly. "They uh, they died a while ago. I was five, I think."

Doctor Strange's face tightened a bit. "I'm sorry," he said.

"S'okay," I slurred. "I barely remember them." My breathing had slowed significantly, and despite my best efforts, my eyelids were beginning to droop.

"No, no Peter, no!" Doctor Strange yelled, trying to wake me up. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should probably respond to him, tell him that it was okay, I was just going to take a little nap, but I didn't have the energy to. My eyes closed and the world was submerged into darkness.

* * *

The universe had transformed into a giant swimming pool, and I was the only person left. That's what it felt like at least. My brain and all my motions were slowed, like I was moving through water, and everything was quiet.

Well, almost quiet. There was one sound, a beeping sound. It stayed fairly constant, beep then silence, beep silence, beep silence. I just sat and listened to it for a while. I wasn't sure how long I'd been listening before another sound came. A voice. What was it saying?

"Are you awake, Peter?" It asked. Peter, that was me right?

"Yes, you are Peter," it said. It sounded amused. I didn't like that. Why was the voice laughing at me? I wished it would go and f-

"Your aunt wouldn't like to hear you talking like that," the voice chided. Groaning, I opened my eyes and was hit with a wall of pain and a brick load of memories.

I was lying in a hospital bed, which freaked me out for a minute before recognizing the room as being part of the Avengers Compound upstate. Cool.

Doctor Strange was sitting in a chair beside my bed, trying to appear mysterious and grumpy, but his eyes were bright and I could tell he was still amused by what I had said before.

"Hey doc," I said. My voice sounded weird, kind of horse and scratchy.

"Good morning, Mr. Parker," he responded. "I hope you're feeling better than when we last spoke."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks," I said absent-mindedly, peeling at the bandages covering my stomach. "What exactly happened?"

"You got shot."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I know _that_ part. What I meant was, what happened after I blacked out? How did I get here?" My eyes widened as I remembered about May, and the condition I left the apartment in, namely, a blood-soaked couch and blanket. "Oh crap, May is gonna _kill_ me! I gotta go talk to her, I need-"

"Wait one second, Mr. Parker," Strange put his hand on my arm to calm me down and to stop me from ripping several IVs out of my arm. "Your aunt has been informed of your condition and she's headed here now. She's not mad, just worried."

That calmed me down a little, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "But what about the apartment? I didn't exactly leave it in pristine condition."

"No, but I did." I looked at Doctor Strange in surprise, but mostly disbelief.

"You cleaned our apartment?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said smugly. He waved his hands in front of the gold medallion he wore around his neck, and it opened to reveal a bright green light inside.

"Wow," I breathed.

"This is the Time Stone," he explained. "It allowed me to return your apartment to its previous condition."

"That's awesome!"

"Indeed." He waved his hands again and the medallion closed. We both sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being my heart monitor.

After the silence had become sufficiently awkward, I cleared my throat. "Um, I just want to say, thank you, Mist-I mean, Doctor Strange. I probably would have died without your help."

"Without a doubt," he said coldly, but his eyes were kind. "You're welcome, Mr. Parker."

"Yeah, I'm not really comfortable with that. Can you call me Peter, please? It sounds much better than 'Mr. Parker'." He raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

"Very well, Peter." He stood to leave, but turned back to face me at the door. "Don't forget, if you are ever in need of assistance again, do not hesitate to ask."

"I won't."

"However," he added, "I would be extremely grateful if you could, if you must get shot, try to do it during the day, and not when I'm trying to sleep."

I smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I'll remember that next time."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time."

He closed the door softly behind him, but I could hear through it the sound of sparks flying, then his footsteps passing through the arch before it closed without a trace.

* * *

 **Sorry the ending's a little awkward, I'm really not good at endings. Hope you enjoyed, please review!**


	4. KABOOM! Part I

One clear spring night I was swinging around Queens, protecting civilians, stopping robbers, giving directions, etc. Basic Spiderman stuff. It was almost four o'clock in the morning and I was getting tired, a sure sign that it was time to head home and get some sleep, especially since I had a Spanish test the next day. But of course, no one can ever give me what I want.

I was about to start swinging home when my enhanced hearing allowed me to pick up the sound of voices. Hushed voices, whispering frantically to each other in a dark alley. With a brief sigh, I made my way to the alley and lowered myself behind two men who were exchanging bags of drugs. They both had guns.

"Look guys, I hate to crash your party, but those aren't technically legal," I said, motioning to the drugs. They both spun around in panic, aiming their guns at my chest.

"Who the hell are you?" One guy growled. He seemed older and more experienced, and looked like he knew how to use that gun. The other guy looked like he was about to shit himself.

"Dude, do you never watch the news? I'm Spiderman."

"Shitty name for a shitty superhero." Old Dude was obviously trying to insult me, but that was the lamest insult I'd ever heard, and I told him so. He didn't like that.

Both guys shot at me, but luckily for me they were terrible shots. I dodged easily and webbed up their guns. Young Guy got his hand stuck in the web with the gun so he was slightly more useless than he had been. He used his free hand to draw a dangerous-looking knife, but he had no idea how to use that either, so he ended up just swinging it around pointlessly, trying to hit me. I stayed just out of his reach, which annoyed him even more.

Old Guy had a little more common sense than his partner, unfortunately for me. He put his hands up and knelt down as I turned towards him.

"Hey hey, listen buddy, I bet we can work something out here, right?" He tried to negotiate. I hesitated. There was a low-key tingling at the back of my neck, my spider-sense trying to tell me that something wasn't right. I scanned the guy from top to bottom but there was nothing out of place. It wasn't really logical, but that scared me more.

"Yeah, let's work something out," I said cautiously. "First, why don't you throw all the weapons you have on the ground. _Slowly_ , and keep your hands where I can see them."

He carefully unclipped another gun from his belt and threw it on the ground, along with three knives and small string. I kicked them out of his reach and ordered him to lie down on his stomach, hands behind his back so I could use my webs like handcuffs. Big mistake.

He growled something under his breath that I couldn't quite catch.

"What was that?" I asked sharply, trying to keep my tone light but unable to shake the sense of foreboding that now filled every cell in my body.

"I said, ' _fuck off Spider!'_ " the guy yelled. He moved his hand up into his sleeve and I heard a very faint _click_ that seemed to echo throughout the alley. Then the world exploded into a flash of light and pain.

* * *

Everything was dark and kind of…floaty. It was nice. There was no sound, no pain, no nothing. Then suddenly there was a _click_ which sounded awfully familiar, and my eyes popped open. I pulled off my mask and gasped for air, suddenly able to feel every bit of damage the bomb had done to me. The air was full of smoke and the smell of burning flesh; mine, I realized, but someone else's too.

The two drug dealers. I lifted my head off the ground, ignoring the pounding, and quickly scanned the alley. In front of me lay the charred remains of Old Dude, still with an evil smirk on his bony face. I shuddered and looked away.

On the other side of the alley was Young Guy, still right where I left him, webbed to the wall with his gun. Only now, his insides were spilling onto the ground, and his hand was fused to the wall behind him. Of his face, only the eyes were left; scared, lonely, immature, in way over his head. Dead. Because of me. Because he couldn't run from the bomb.

Unable to hold it in anymore, I shot into a sitting position and unloaded the contents of my stomach. I vomited and vomited until there was nothing left, and threw up some more for good measure. I couldn't stop, even though I could see how much it was hurting me. My head was light, but there was a heavy pounding that wouldn't go away. The alley seemed to tilt around me, and I now realized that I was throwing up blood. That couldn't be good.

I sagged back against the ground, weak and exhausted. The smell of burned flesh and heat from the flames raging all around me still threatened to overload all my senses, but I just couldn't find it in myself to care. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that I couldn't feel my left leg. Or my right leg, for that matter. But I didn't care.

I just wanted to sleep, to forget all the pain I was in and all the pain I caused others. Both those men probably had families, and yes, they were drug dealers, but that didn't make it any more okay for them to die. They had people that loved them and who were waiting for them to come home, but now they never would, and it was all because of me.

My fault.

Like always.

I lifted my arms to cover my face, letting the tears stream down my ash-covered face, leaving tiny trails of cleanness in the midst of ruin. I let the feelings of guilt consume me, completely oblivious to the warm blood I subconsciously felt pooling beneath me as it leaked from a gash in my side.

Maybe it was slightly more than a gash. Maybe it was a metal rod which had impaled me, going in about three inches below my heart on the left side and exiting right above my hip on the right. Maybe it had hit several major organs which were vital to my staying alive, and the only reason I wasn't passed out right now was because of my advanced healing ability.

Maybe I realized all this, and processed it, and came to the conclusion that I didn't care at all. Maybe I realized that I deserved whatever shit I was feeling right now, both mental and physical. Maybe it didn't matter to me at all because two men fucking _died_ two feet in front of me and it was all my fault because I had to stick my nose where it didn't belong.

Maybe.

If I turned my head slightly to the right, I could see the dead bodies, and the flames which were still burning and consuming them. I could feel the heat from the flames as they drew closer, licking at my face and hair, kind of like a stray puppy. I reached my hand out to touch the fire, only vaguely noticing the weird twist and twinges of pain which indicated that my wrist was broken.

The fire was warm, the complete opposite of what I felt right now. I felt frozen, barely able to move, barely able to affect anything. I wanted the fire to melt the ice.

It caught my glove, burning away at the material and eating its way up my sleeve. I watched it numbly, focusing on the flames and only the flames. The beautiful, fearless, ever-changing dance of fire. It was like a liquid, flowing over my arm, but hard like herd of buffalo, trappeling and destroying everything in its path. It was strangely enticing, and I found myself unable to focus on anything else.

Not the pain, not the lightheadedness from excessive blood-loss, not guilt from even more lives I couldn't save. Just childlike fascination, watching.

I barely even noticed the mechanical red and gold suit landing beside me, or the kind, dark-haired man with the frantic eyes who kept yelling my name. He didn't seem too happy. I smiled, thinking I wouldn't be too happy either in the same situation.

He didn't like my smile. It scared him, I could tell. I don't know why, it was just funny.

"Hey Peter, listen to me," he said, trying to pull me back into reality. "Peter, I need you to focus," he yelled as gently as he could. I just kept staring at the flames licking their way up my arm. It felt a little sore now, but good sore. I liked it. It felt, I don't know, right.

Mr. Stark didn't like that either. He used his suit to spray something on the flames, and then in a cloud of smoke, they were gone. Completely gone, leaving nothing but grey ash and burned, raw, bleeding skin. Oops.

I stared at the burns. Mr. Stark tried to make me stop. He grabbed my face in his hands and turned it so I had to look at him.

"Peter, I need you to say something, okay? Just say one thing so I know you're still there."

I just looked at him. The words entered my brain, but I didn't really process what he was saying.

"C'mon buddy, you can do this."

Buddy. That's what that drug dealer called me. Before the explosion. Before he died.

Tears filled my eyes involuntarily.

"They're dead," I whispered. "They're dead Mr. Stark."

"Yeah I know, kid." He tried to comfort me, tenderly pushing stray hairs back from my sweat-drenched forehead. I glanced down at the rod protruding from my abdomen.

"Am I gonna die too?" I whispered fearfully. Everything was hitting me now, the pain, the fear.

Mr. Stark shook his head but didn't speak. I could see in his eyes that he didn't trust himself to say anything for fear he might break down, and he wanted to stay strong for me.

"No, you'll be fine, kiddo."

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. His eyes were still brimming with emotion, as well as a few unshed tears. He was too stubborn to let them fall.

"It's okay Mr. Stark," I said. I kept my voice surprisingly steady. "You can cry. I won't let it go to my head."

He let out a weak chuckle and wiped away the tears which slipped involuntarily from his eyes.

"Sassy little spider," he teased.

"Where do you think I learned?" I shot back, desperately trying to conceal the amount of pain I was in. If I was about to die, he didn't need to know that it hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before. It wouldn't kill him to believe that I was peaceful and happy in my last moments on Earth. Damn, that sounded kind of…sappy? Cheesy? Overdramatic? Something like that.

Mr. Stark wasn't buying it though.

"How bad is it?" He asked softly. I breathed in small gasps through clenched teeth.

"On a scale of one to ten? About three."

I was lying. At least, it was a thirteen.

"Mr. Stark?" I worked up the courage to ask the question that had been on my mind for several minutes. "Am I gonna die here? Is there any chance of help coming?"

"Of course there is. You didn't think I was just going to sit here and wait for you to croak when I know you're going to be just fine, did you? I called Rhodey at the compound, and he's bringing a Quinjet straight over to get you. You're gonna be okay, kiddo."

I smiled at him, suddenly too tired to say anything. The sky above all the smoke and ruin around me was getting lighter as the sun rose. It was beautiful.

"Mr. Stark?" I whispered.

"Yeah buddy, I'm here," he said. He was holding both my hands, even though the right one was kind of broken and burned. (Maybe more than kind of).

"I have a Spanish test today," I whispered.

My eyelids suddenly felt like they had weights attached to them, and I felt as weak as I did before the spider bite. I couldn't stop my eyes from closing.

The last thing I saw was Mr. Stark's tear-stained face. He wasn't even trying to hold it back now, just openly sobbing. I felt a pang of remorse as I remembered that he was crying because of me, but I was too exhausted to care. I fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

 **This took a lot longer than I meant. Oops.**

 **Also, I realized that I have a hard time writing anything even semi-good in one chapter, so most of these stories will probably be two chapters each.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed this story, it means a lot to know people are (hopefully) enjoying it.**


	5. KABOOM! Part II

**Finally an update! This took way longer than I meant it to, sorry guys. But happy note, this story passed 100 followers!**

 **Warning: I am not a doctor, and have zero medical experience, so all the medical stuff in this is guess work + internet. Not reliable or probably true at all.**

 **Also, if you guys have any ideas for things you want to see in here, specific injuries, maybe people that should help Peter or whatever, feel free to message me or leave your suggestion in a review.**

 **Enjoy the chapter!**

 **Tony's POV**

"I have a Spanish test today," the kid whispered. His eyelids began to droop, but even before they closed all the way I could see the life drain from him. That pure spark of energy that always seemed to animate every fiber of his being sputtered out before I could say a word, before I could tell him that I was proud of him, that I loved him. I couldn't even lie again and tell him everything would be okay.

I let the tears flow freely down my cheeks without even a hint of embarrassment as I slumped on the ash-covered ground of an alley somewhere in Queens, a situation I never thought I would be in.

A crackling sound came through the communication device in my ear.

" _Tones? Tony, are you there?"_ I cleared my throat and wiped away the tears with the back of my hand.

"Yeah I'm here, Rhodey," I responded. "Are you close? Please tell me you're close."

" _Yeah I'll be there within two minutes,"_ my best replied. " _Tony, are you okay, man? What happened?"_

I looked down at the boy in my arms. He was still a child really, and too good and too pure for this world. I felt my emotions rising to the surface again. I shut my eyes tight and turned away.

"Just get here," I choked.

The time between Rhodey arriving in the Quinjet to bring us back to the compound and Peter going into surgery was all a blur of doctors and medical professionals talking in quick, calm voices heavy with underlying panic. I could see in their expressions that they didn't think there was much chance of saving Peter. I suppressed the nausea that overcame me at that thought and focused on peeling dried blood off my hands. Peter's blood.

Even before we landed at the compound the doctors were prepping him for surgery. They ripped the remains of his Spiderman suit off his body, which I knew he wouldn't be happy about. He loved that suit. Even though I could easily make him another, better one, I couldn't help grimacing at the sight of the torn and bloodied fabric lying abandoned on the floor of the Quinjet.

A sudden rapid beeping sound jerked me out of the dead stare I had fallen into. Something was wrong with Peter.

"He's crashing!" I heard someone yell.

All of a sudden there was comotion everywhere, everyone was talking at once and moving in a blur, pumping Peter's chest, strapping an oxygen mask on him, injecting him with drugs to keep him steady and control his movements.

"He's lost a lot of blood," I could hear someone say through the fog in my brain.

A friendly person appeared by my side, placing a strong supporting hand on my back.

"Breathe, Tony," Rhodey instructed. I realized I hadn't breathed in a few seconds, and shakily inhaled. It helped clear the fuzziness in my brain but I could still see before me, all too clearly, the young boy I loved as a son covered in burns and blood, dying.

With Rhodey's help I managed to focus simply on breathing and not freaking out until we landed at the Compound. The doctors lifted Peter onto a gurney and rushed him to an operating room as Rhodey and I followed close behind, but before we could go after them into the room for the surgery, one of the nurses turned and stopped us.

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes, but you'll have to wait here," she said in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

"You have to let us in there," I begged. "He needs me! Please, I need to be with him."

"Mr. Stark, you may be one of the smartest men on the planet, but you don't know how to operate on someone, especially someone you care this much about." The nurse responded bluntly. She looked stern and intimidating, but I could see pity in her eyes. I appealed unabashedly to that sense of pity.

"I love that boy like my own son," I declared, staring deep into her eyes. "Do you know what that feels like? If he dies, I-I don't know what I'll do. Please, you have to let me in."

She wavered, and I could see her imagining herself in this situation, one of her own children bleeding out, dying. She hesitated, glancing back at the operating room, and for a split second I thought I'd convinced her. But then she stood straight with firm resolve.

"I'm sorry sir, but you would only be in the way."

I began to protest, but she cut me off, saying, "If you really love him, you will stay here and let the doctors work on him in peace. Understand?"

I wanted to do what she said, to respect her, but the thought of Peter dying, of me losing Peter, never being able to see him alive again, talk to him, laugh with him, work with him, those thoughts filled my mind and made me forget everything else, even my common sense.

"I need to see him," I said again, preparing to push past her into the operating room, but I felt two strong hands holding me back, and my best friend turning me to look directly at him.

"Tony, let's go sit down," Rhodey said firmly. His tone left no room for argument, but I stared at him defiantly anyway. Neither of us broke eye contact for almost a minute, just staring with determination at the other. Finally, Rhodey's eyes softened and he placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Tony, you know you can't help in there," he said gently. "Let's go sit down, maybe get some water, and they'll call us as soon as they have something to report, okay?"

I turned and glared at the door to the operating room, the only thing separating me from Peter. I wanted nothing more than to burst through it and be with him, but in the back of my mind I knew that that wasn't the best idea. I knew I couldn't help him anymore. It was all up to the doctors now, and no matter how much I hated being useless, I had to step back. For Peter's sake.

"Okay," I sighed in defeat. Rhodey and the nurse looked relieved, and Rhodey guided me toward a chair in the hallway.

"Okay, Tony, thank you," my friend said. I sat in the chair he led me to, but grabbed his arm as he moved away.

"On one condition," I demanded. "I want the best doctors in the world flown in to help, and I want to know everything that happens in there. Understand? Every. Damn. Thing."

Rhodey and the nurse nodded, then both moved away to carry out my instructions, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

 **Peter's POV**

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to remember what had happened. Then it hit me in a flash.

Of course. The drug dealers, the explosion, the guilt, and…Mr. Stark?

Had Mr. Stark been there or was that just my imagination?

Part of me wished I had imagined him being there because I could also remember breaking down in tears about the two guys who died there. But the other part of me desperately hoped that he cared enough about me to come and sit with me when we both thought I was going to die.

I hadn't died, right? I wrenched my eyes away from the ceiling to scan the room around me, to make sure this wasn't someone's idea of a joke and I was actually still alive.

There was a machine next to the bed I was lying in, and it had wires running to these pads which were connected to my chest. It looked like a heart monitor, and my suspicion was confirmed when it began beeping faster as my heart rate rose.

I looked down from the heart monitor pad thingies to see almost my entire abdomen covered in thick bandages.

"What the hell…?" I went to poke at the bandages, but when I moved my right hand, a jolt of pain shot up my arm. The wrist was set in a cast, and from about the mid-forearm up almost to my shoulder was covered in light clothes soaked in some kind of ointment.

There was also a dull ache in the back of my head, and my stomach felt unsettled. Overall, I felt like crap.

A sound came from across the room, and I turned to see Mr. Stark lying on the couch, looking like he had barely slept in days. I hope that wasn't my fault.

His eyes popped open and he turned to look at me. Our eyes met, and for a moment we just stared at each other. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes, then looked at me again.

"Are you, uh, are you actually awake?" He asked hesitantly.

I nodded, but regretted it right away as spots swarm into my vision. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the pillow to try to stop the wave of nausea which had suddenly overcome me. Mr. Stark was by my side in a split second, his hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay Peter?" He asked, his voice laced with concern. "What d'you need? Should I call a doctor?"

I held up a hand (my left hand) to stop his pointless babble of worry.

"Nah, I'm good," I said after taking a few deep breaths. I opened my eyes in time to see the deepest look of concern and regret that I'd only ever seen in myself lingering in Mr. Stark's eyes, behind a few unshed tears.

"What's the matter?" I asked innocently.

He looked at me disbelievingly.

"' _What's the matter?'_ " He exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?" He turned away and took a deep breath before facing me again.

"You almost _died_ , Peter. How am I ever supposed to forget that?"

I shifted uncomfortably under the sheets. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I wanted to add that it wasn't my fault, that I didn't ask that guy to blow me up, but looking at the pain in Mr. Stark's face, the words died in my throat. And besides, it kind of _was_ my fault. If I had stopped that guy sooner, or thought to check him for explosives, or something, none of this would have happened.

Mr. Stark brushed away my apology.

"I'm not blaming you for what happened," he said. "You didn't cause that. I just, I wish you would be more careful."

"I was trying to stop them!" I exclaimed, then winced as the exertion sent pain flaring up from the giant hole in my abdomen. Mr. Stark put his hand on my shoulder again.

"What's wrong, Pete?"

I shook my head. "It's nothing."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, only the steady beep of my heart monitor making any sound.

"What happened?" I asked at last. "I mean, after…?"

"After you nearly died in my arms?" Mr. Stark's voice trembled ever so slightly as he said this.

"Rhodey came, and we got you back here. I called in the best doctors money can buy to operate on you."

"Mr. Stark, you didn't have to do that," I protested. I felt bad having him spend so much money on me, especially since there was no way I could ever pay him back.

"Peter, do you have any idea what condition you were in when we got back here?"

I shook my head wordlessly.

"You literally had a metal rod sticking through your body." Mr. Stark said this in a tone more serious than I had ever heard him use before. "It punctured a lung and caused significant internal bleeding. Oh, and it also impacted your spinal cord. Do you know what a complete spinal cord injury is, Peter?"

Again, I shook my head.

"It means that below the point where that piece of metal hit your spine, you lost all movement and muscle function."

I swallowed hard.

"Does…does that mean I can't…"

I couldn't finish the sentence. I couldn't bare the thought of not being able to walk, or worse, not being able to be Spiderman. Mr. Stark's eyes softened.

"You'll be able to walk," he said. "You're not paralyzed. At least, not permanently."

I let out a shaky sigh of relief and lay my head back on the pillow.

"What else?" I asked.

"What other injuries? A broken wrist, third degree burns on your right arm, a mild concussion."

"But I'll get better, right?" I asked desperately. He nodded.

"It'll take some time, but the doctors said you should make a full recovery. But Peter, remember that you're not invincible. You got lucky this time, with your enhanced healing and being so close to the compound. Next time, there might not be anyone close enough to save you."

"I know."

Mr. Stark put his head in his hands.

"Do you really, Peter?" He turned and looked at me straight in the eyes.

"You have to be careful. You can't just go risking your life like this every night. What if you _had_ died? Did you ever think about what your death would do to your aunt? Or to me?"

I suddenly became very interested in my blanket, staring at it as hard as I could.

Of course I thought about what my death would do to them, but I can never let that stop me from being Spiderman or from saving people. Because everyone out there needs to be protected, and no one else is going to do it. I have the power to help people, which also means I have the responsibility.

Mr. Stark put his hand on my chin and lifted my head so I had to meet his eyes. Neither of us said anything, but I guess he saw all of that in my eyes, because he softened and pulled me into a hug.

"I'm sorry I made you worry," I whispered into his shoulder. He laughed, softly and lovingly.

"I'm always going to worry about you, Peter," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

 **Sorry again for the terrible ending, I'm just really bad at tying things up.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Bully

**I've decided that this story will ignore Infinity War altogether, and pretend that all the Avengers and Guardians are on Earth and everything's fine.**

Flash Thompson has been tormenting me my whole life, but he's never done anything physical. It was easy for me to ignore him. But when two of his very large, very muscular cousins showed up at Midtown Tech and began helping as he mocked me, it got harder and harder to turn the other cheek. Especially since every time I turned the other cheek, they'd hit that one too.

I wasn't particularly happy about that, but it was better than the alternative. The first time they beat me up, I tried to fight back. Obviously I didn't fight as well as I could because I didn't want to hurt them, having super strength and all. But I soon found out that that was a mistake, because the next day Ned showed up with a busted lip and black eye. They'd cornered him on the way home and I hadn't been there to protect him.

I was so angry I could barely think straight, which is probably why, instead of telling a teacher or even one of the very powerful friends I had in the Avengers and the Guardians, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I told Flash's cousins, Rick and Oscar, that I wouldn't fight back if they bullied me, as long as they promised to leave Ned alone. And so began my almost daily bullying session, which usually resulted in bruises and cuts all over my body. My healing factor allowed at least the ones on my face to disappear fairly quickly, so no one suspected a thing.

So it continued for several months, and became progressively worse. I began coming home with cracked ribs and sprained wrists and ankles, and one time my left arm was dislocated. Setting that by myself was not fun. Actually, none of it was fun, but I was willing to endure it if it meant keeping Ned safe.

Rick and Oscar kept their promise; they left Ned alone, and focused only on beating me up. Ned knew something was happening, but he didn't know how bad. And I didn't tell him, because he just would have been mad and would have insisted that I break off the deal and let them beat him up. But I couldn't do that, not when I had the ability to protect him. So I didn't say anything to anyone about how bad it was to anyone, and it kept happening.

* * *

"Hey Peter, you wanna hang out after school?" Ned asked me during lunch one Wednesday in mid December. I swallowed a bite of my sandwich nervously, feeling the bruise on my neck which Oscar had left when he partially strangled me the day before.

"I don't think I can, sorry," I said. "I've got the Stark Internship after school."

Ned knew that 'Stark Internship,' actually meant being Spiderman, but he looked disappointed anyway.

"Maybe after?" He asked. "It just seems like we haven't really hung out outside of school for a while."

I winced internally, knowing that was true, but there was also no way to avoid it. Rick and Oscar cornered me right after school every day, and the bruises weren't healed enough by evening to convince Ned that everything was fine. I could try to pass it off as some of the consequences of being Spiderman, but that would only work for so long. Ned was smart, and most of the time he could tell when I was lying.

"Mr. Stark actually texted me this morning," I said quickly. "He, uh, he wants to meet up after patrol tonight to, you know, check out the suit, make sure everything's working okay, stuff like that."

I wasn't technically lying; Mr. Stark had texted and asked to meet up, but I had told him I had a Decathlon meeting I couldn't miss or I would be kicked off the team.

Ned looked disappointed, but he nodded and tried to smile.

"I understand," he said gloomily.

I felt a really sharp pain in my chest at his sad face, but I pushed it away, telling myself that this was to protect him. It was, but that didn't mean it felt right. I sighed internally and we finished our lunch in silence.

After the last bell rang, signifying the end of school, I dragged my feet as I made my way to my locker. I was in no hurry to get outside, because I knew what was coming as soon as I stepped in that parking lot. Unfortunately I couldn't delay it forever, and within a few minutes there I was, lying on the ground with my arms curled protectively around my head as Flash's cousins kicked me repeatedly as hard as they could, which was pretty damn hard.

My ribs were still pretty sore from yesterday, so they didn't last long under the pressure. I bit back a scream as I felt at least three of them shatter. Rick grabbed hold of Oscar before he could continue kicking, and pushed him away from me. He roughly turned me on my back, so my face was exposed and facing the malicious smile on his. He placed his right knee on my collarbone, and pushed down hard, moving up and down like I was a trampoline. I felt the bone crack, and a burst of pain shot through my shoulder. I couldn't hold back a slight whimper.

That only made them smile more; they loved it when I finally broke and gave some acknowledgement of the pain.

"You feelin' that, Pretty Boy?" Rick mocked, imitating my whimper and exaggerating it to sound like a baby's wails. "How d'you like this?"

He clenched his fist and began whaling on me, pounding my face with his brute strength, all the while kneeling on my broken collarbone. Oscar got tired of being left out, and kicking my legs. He stepped on my left ankle and twisted, causing the bones to pop out of their sockets and a fire to flare up my leg.

Tiring of simply pounding my face, Ricky cracked his knuckles and then pushed down on my throat, cutting off my oxygen supply. I gasped and choked, my hands moving of their own accord to try and pull his off.

"Oscar!" He growled. "Grab his hands!"

Oscar quickly pulled my hands away from my throat, but instead of just holding them away and allowing his brother to continue strangeling me, he placed one flat on the ground and stomped on it with the weight of his entire body. At least three fingers snapped under his weight. Then he went and did it on the other hand too, and on the wrist of that hand.

Involuntary tears pooled in my tears and slipped down my cheeks, making Rick laugh at me even more. He said something, but I couldn't tell what it was through the rush of blood in my ears. Everything was coming through a haze now. I was blacking out from lack of oxygen and I guess Rick realized that, because he released the pressure on my neck.

I gasped, greedily sucking in air through my chapped lips. Oscar and Rick both stood back, standing over me and laughing as I coughed and gasped pathetically, letting the tears continue to drip down my face. My chest rose and fell heavily, and I winced every time my broken ribs shifted.

"I think he's had enough," Rick said, still laughing cruelly. Oscar shook his head.

"One more thing," he said. He walked over to where my left leg lay stretched out on the asphalt. He planted his foot over my knee, and raised it to stomp down. For a split second I considered moving my leg so I wouldn't have to endure a broken knee, but an image of Ned flashed through my mind. It was from the day after I resisted their first attack, and they ambushed Ned instead. I saw his black eye and swollen lip, and I remembered how mad I was when I saw that. I never wanted that to happen to him again.

So I stayed strong, I kept my leg exactly where it was and Oscar's foot came down on my knee with full force. I screamed as it cracked and popped, sending what felt like waves of flames dancing up and down my leg.

They both bent double laughing at my agonized screams, but I didn't care or notice. I only focused on what hurt at the moment, which was everything. My face was throbbing, and I was fairly certain that my nose was broken.

I was so focused on my injuries that I barely noticed when a stern voice yelled from across the parking lot. I barely noticed when Rick and Oscar turned pale and ran as fast as they could in the other direction. But I did notice when a gentle face with kind blue eyes and concern etched all over it bent into my line of sight.

"Hey Peter," Bucky said softly.

I tried to sit up, to pretend like everything was fine and that I hadn't just been beaten within an inch of my life. But the pain of all my injuries added together was too much and slumped back on the ground. Bucky put a friendly but firm hand on my chest to keep me lying down.

"Don't try to get up," he said. "You're hurt pretty bad."

I coughed violently.

"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the choking.

"I was in the neighborhood," he said lightly. I gave him a look. He sighed.

"Okay, fine, I wasn't. I heard Tony say that you cancelled a meeting with him because you had Decathlon practice, but I happen to know that you quit Decathlon two months ago. I knew you wouldn't lie to Tony without a good reason, so came to make sure everything was okay. Obviously, it's a good thing I did."

"It's no big deal," I lied. "I had those guys on the ropes." A fond light appeared in Bucky's eyes.

"Uh huh, sure you did," he said. But then he grew more serious. He tenderly reached his metal arm behind my shoulders and put his other arm under my knees, preparing to pick me up bridal style. I protested, of course, insisting that I could stand on my own. But when I tried to put weight on my dislocated ankle and shattered knee, I fell back to the ground with a cry of agony. With my face burning from embarrassment and throbbing from being hit repeatedly, I consented to Bucky carrying me across the parking lot to the car he had driven from the Compound in. He buckled me in the front seat like I was a two year old.

I didn't realize how cold I was until he turned on the heat full blast. After all, I had been outside for a almost an hour in mid December with no coat on, lying on the cold, hard ground and getting my face punched in. I shivered violently and tried to move closer to the vents, my broken ribs shifted. I leaned against the back of the seat and blinked, trying to get the little stars out of my eyes. Bucky glanced at me with eyes drowning in concern and care.

"You okay, Pete?" He asked.

I smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.

"I'm great," I hissed through clenched teeth. Bucky kept his gaze on the road, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"Who were those bastards?" He demanded. His face looked like he wanted to hunt them down and murder them. I shrugged and immediately regretted it as it jostled my broken collar bone.

"Just a couple of kids that go to my school," I said. I glanced at him and he looked ready to explode with rage.

"Please don't kill them," I said, only half joking. He shook his head and let out a shaky breath, then without warning hit his hand several times on the dashboard. Luckily it was his right hand or else the car would have been destroyed.

"Why did you let them do this to you?" He exclaimed. "You're Spiderman, you could have easily protected yourself."

"Yeah, I could have," I agreed. I offered no further explanation, suddenly embarrassed by the whole situation.

Bucky looked at me expectantly.

"Well?" He said. "Why didn't you?"

I wanted to shrug again but luckily remembered about my collarbone, so I settled for staring out the window instead. I was quiet for a long time.

"Ned Leeds is my best friend," I said. I don't know why I started with that, but it sounded right. Bucky obviously wasn't expecting that, but he didn't say anything. I knew he understood about best friends. He had also met Ned a couple times, and they got along pretty well.

I continued. "If anything ever happened to him, I don't know what I'd do. I have to keep him safe, no matter what it costs me."

A light of sudden realization appeared in Bucky's face, and I knew he understood.

"So, those guys…" he said. "Those guys threatened Ned?"

"Yeah. They beat him up one day, and they said they would keep doing it. I couldn't let that happen, Bucky."

"So you offered yourself instead," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. I could tell he was still

angry but holding it back for my sake.

"Yeah." I looked down at my broken hands.

"How long has this been going on?"

"A while."

"Peter." Bucky only said my name, but I knew he wanted a more exact answer. I didn't want to tell him, but I did anyway. I couldn't lie to Bucky.

"Since like the first week of school," I mumbled.

The car screeched to a halt and I had to put my hands on the dashboard to stop myself from flying forward. All my injuries screamed at me, and I hissed in pain, especially at having to use my hands.

"FOUR MONTHS?!" Bucky yelled. "This has been going on for four months and you didn't tell anyone? Does your aunt even know?"

"No, no one does." I said, desperately trying to defend my position.

Bucky was quiet for a minute, then he started driving again.

"Not even Ned?"

"No," I whispered. I could see the Avengers' Compound in front of us now, where all the other Avengers were probably waiting. Not for me specifically, but there was no way they wouldn't hear about this. I groaned.

Immediately Bucky stopped the car and went into full panic mode.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "Does it hurt somewhere? Are you bleeding? Should I get Tony to just fly us the rest of the way?"

I pushed away his hands which were running over my abdomen trying to see if I was bleeding anywhere.

"No, I'm fine, Grandpa Creepo," I said. "Geez. I'm just not looking forward to what everyone else is going to say about this."

Bucky looked at me with soft eyes, like I was a teddy bear or something.

"You're a good person, Peter," he said. "They'll understand that you were just trying to protect your friend."

We shared a small smile. Then I took a breath, as deep as I could without hurting my ribs, and put on a brave face.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go."

* * *

 **I literally wrote this in like an hour, so sorry if it's bad. For some reason it was really easy to write, easier than everything else I've ever written.**

 **I really like Bucky-Peter friendships where Bucky is like Peter's older brother. I'm not sure how much that came across, but yeah. Thanks to perish-the-thoughtless for the idea to put Bucky in. Hopefully you like this.**

 **I thought about making this another chapter, maybe where everyone else finds out that Peter's being bullied. Maybe one of the injuries could be really serious and he could almost die. What do you guys think?**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading and stay tuned for more! Thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed. You guys are amazing!**


	7. Bully Part II

**Part 2, since there were so many requests. Hope you guys like it!**

The Avengers were not happy when Bucky showed up at the Compound with a crippled teenager. I thought I'd seen them all mad before, but their faces when Bucky told them I was being bullied, well, let's just say I'm glad I wasn't the one bullying me. I'm pretty sure Bruce was turning green, and I thought I saw a spark of electricity coming from Thor's fingertips. And his eyes. Weird. I didn't know he could do that.

Sam broke a glass on accident. He squeezed and it just kinda shattered, which was weird because I didn't think he was that strong.

I gave them Rick and Oscar's names, and I swear Natasha and Clint were already planning their murders because they both took out their phones and started doing something. Gamora was by Natasha's side in an instant, staring over her shoulder with the distinct look of someone who wants to kill someone else.

Everyone started fussing over me, treating me like a baby. I rolled my eyes and told them to stop, but secretly I liked it. I'd never had siblings and Ned was pretty much my only friend, so this was like having an entire family of people to care about me. It was…nice.

All the Avengers and Guardians insisted on being in the room when Bruce and Doctor Strange examined me. There were audible gasps when I took my shirt off and gave everyone an unobstructed view of the bruises and cuts which littered my entire upper body. A giant bruised area covered my entire right shoulder, where the broken collarbone was, and there was an even bigger bruise lower down, showing where my ribs had been destroyed by their kicking.

Bruce also ordered me to remove my pants so he could see the injuries on my legs. At any other time I would have died of embarrassment to take off my clothes in front of my friends, but the deadly anger fostering in all of their eyes and the commanding tone Bruce's voice took on chased away all my embarrassment, and I stripped down to my underwear without hesitation.

"Fuck," Steve swore, and I almost made fun of him for it, but no one looked like they were in the mood for jokes. My left leg was disgusting to look at. Tony and Scott both turned away and threw up, and several others seemed like they wanted to follow suit.

The knee was bruised and cut, blood was running down my leg to the ankle, which was twisted at a weird angle and very purple. Bruce swallowed and took a deep breath to keep himself from turning any greener, and even Doctor Strange had to turn away for a moment to regain his composure. Drax clenched his hands and the knuckles cracked menacingly.

"I will tear out the throats of the cowards who hurt you," he promised. I stared around the room with wide eyes.

"Guys, it's not that bad," I feebly attempted to calm them down. "And Drax, I appreciate the sentiment, but really, please do not tear out their throats. That would be bad."

"Peter, why did this happen?" Natasha asked seriously.

I knew the truth would come out. Bucky would tell them if I didn't, but I didn't really want them to know why. It seemed pathetic now, offering to get beaten up in my friend's place when I could have just beaten them up and told them to stay away.

"Bullies," I said weakly, staring at the floor. Natasha took a step forward and gently lifted my head to force eye contact.

"The truth." She demanded. Her green eyes were daring me to lie.

I looked down at my hands and pretended to be very interested in the blood coming for the cuts where Oscar jumped on them.

Bucky sighed at my silence and put a kind hand on my shoulder, the one without the broken collarbone.

"He was protecting his friend," he said. I glanced at him, and he nodded at me to continue, so I did. Reluctantly.

"There's this guy at my school who's been calling me names and stuff since like second grade," I began. "I've gotten really good at ignoring him. But at the beginning of the year, two of his cousins showed up. They're a lot bigger, and they don't like verbal insults that much. They heard Flash calling me 'Penis Parker,' and I guess they decided that was too boring, 'cause they cornered me outside of school that day and tried to hit me. I fought back and gave one of them a black eye, but the next day Ned showed up at school with a black eye and split lip and a couple bruises. And I just got so mad, I told them that Ned was off-limits. I told them…I said they could beat me up and I wouldn't fight back as long as they promised to leave Ned alone."

Complete silence followed my story. I had been focusing on my hands the whole time, not daring to make eye contact with anyone, but when no one said anything for a long time, I risked looking up to see their reactions. Bucky's hand was still on my shoulder, and he smiled at me proudly. Suddenly Wanda and Gamora both came forward and wrapped their arms around me, being careful not to jostle me too much and aggravate my injuries. Several people, including Captain America, had tears in their eyes which they tried to blink away before anyone could see them. I gave them all a really confused look.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did I say something…?"

Bucky laughed a little at my confusion.

"We're just all trying to comprehend how someone as good as you can exist," he said.

I straightened my mouth into a line. "Cool," I said. "Let me know when you figure that out." Several people chuckled. Everyone seemed to be in much better moods now, so I risked asking a question that had been on my mind ever since we arrived back at the Compound.

"Bruce, do you have any painkillers?" I asked timidly. The mood in the room immediately changed. Wanda and Gamora backed up some, as if their presence was causing me pain. Everyone began serious again. Bruce looked regretful.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but with your metabolism, I don't think any of the regular ones I have will work."

I nodded, a half-hearted smile already forming on my lips.

"That's okay," I said. "It actually doesn't hurt that much, I was just wondering."

No one believed me. They could all see that I was trying to be strong, but I didn't know how much longer I could pretend. Everything was hurting, and all the combined injuries, along with the stress of being hurt and of having everyone worried about me was exhausting me.

"What about Mantis?" Tony said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. He explained, "Mantis can put people to sleep, right?"

"And wake them up," Mantis added.

"Right," Tony continued. "So, theoretically, you could stimulate different parts of Peter's mind to take the focus off the pain."

Bruce and Doctor Strange looked at each other. They began mumbling about brain chemicals, stimuli, and other medical terms. They looked at Mantis.

"Theoretically, it should be possible," Doctor Strange stated. "If you think you can handle it, Mantis." Everyone was now looking at Mantis expectantly, and a collective sigh of relief went up when she nodded.

"I will try," she said.

"Thank you," I panted, using the unbroken wrist to wipe away the thin layer of sweat which had accumulated on my forehead from the exertion of trying not to cry out from how much pain I was in. It felt like there was a fire stretching from my dislocated ankle up my leg to the shattered kneecap, and then spreading from my bruised and broken torso to my collarbone and up to my face. My hands also ached more than they ever had before, the broken fingers sticking out at weird angles.

Mantis made her way across the room to me, and placed a gentle hand on my warm forehead. The instant her skin touched mine, she began screaming in pain and jerked her hand away. She fell into Drax's arms, breathing heavily and blinking away the tears in her dark eyes. Everyone took a step forward, multiple voices overlapping as they demanded to know what was going on.

"He is in agony!" Mantis breathed. "He is screaming on the inside. It hurts so much!"

If I had remembered that Mantis could feel what the person she touches feels, I never would have let her touch me. The whole point of not letting them see how much everything hurt was so that they wouldn't worry, but now they would worry more than ever.

"Peter, are you okay?" Bucky asked gently. I knew now that there was no point in lying, since none of them would believe me.

I couldn't speak, so I shook my head. I closed my eyes and let the tears slip down my face. The whole room fell silent.

Bucky stepped closer. Placing his hand on the back of my neck, he guided my head until it was resting on his shoulder, his human shoulder. I couldn't keep it in anymore; I let more and more tears fall, whimpering pathetically. No one laughed, no one mocked me.

I felt the bed dip as Wanda sat down beside me. She gently took hold of my right wrist, since the hand was broken, and simply held it.

"It hurts so much," I whispered into Bucky's shoulder. He was an angel and held perfectly still, not minding that I was soaking his shirt with tears.

"I know," he whispered back. "It's okay, we're right here, we're not going to leave you."

We sat like that for more than an hour, me, Bucky, and Wanda, all perfectly still while Bruce and Doctor Strange cleaned and bandaged my wounds as best they could. Everyone else filtered in and out, wanting to be there, but also wanting to give me space to breathe and the doctors space to work. I could hear some of them talking in low voices in the hallway. If I concentrated, I could hear every word, but I didn't want to. I let it sink into the background, focusing on breathing steadily and listening to the strong, unchanging beat of Bucky's heart. The sound lulled me into a deep sleep, untouched by any physical pain.

* * *

When I woke up, the room was dark. I was lying on a bed in the medical section of the Compound, and about four different fuzzy blankets lay on top of me. I smiled as I realized that at least the top one had a picture of Spiderman.

The silence of the room was broken by slight snores coming from several different locations around the room. I sensed about seven people around me, one person with their head leaning on my bed and their hand wrapped firmly around my now bandaged right hand.

I listened to all their breathing patterns, trying to figure out who was who. Steve and Tony were draped over a couch on one side of the room. In the chair on the left side of my bed was Bucky. I could hear the miniscule squeaks of his metal arm whenever he moved. There was another couch on the other side of the room, and I was fairly positive that I recognized the breathing as belonging to Thor, Wanda, and one other person. Scott, maybe? Or Peter Quill? One of the two.

If I concentrated, I could hear the soft voices of Natasha and Gamora outside my door, as if guarding it.

That left only the person holding my right hand. It wasn't an Avenger, but I recognized the breathing. My first thought was Aunt May, but she worked a double shift at the hospital tonight. I listened harder, and then I realized who it was.

Ned.

I smiled in the dark, thinking how lucky I was to have a friend that would come in the middle of the week to sit with me while I was hurt. He probably should have been doing homework, but he chose to stay with me instead. I was grateful for that.

My right leg started itching suddenly, and I moved it a little to try and scratch it. I moved it as little as I could, but the movement woke Ned up. He searching eyes tried to find my face in the dark.

"Peter?" He whispered, unsure about whether or not I was awake.

"Yeah," I answered at the same volume so as not to wake the others. "Sorry for waking you, you can go back to sleep if you want."

"Nah, it's fine," he said. "I got a couple hours."

"Hours? What time is it?"

Ned looked at his watch. "Almost six a.m."

"Wow." I didn't realize I'd slept that long. "How long have you been here, man?"

He thought for a minute. "Like, eleven hours. Since two Russian and alien assassins showed up at my house and said you needed me."

I jerked my head toward him at that, and wished I hadn't because it aggravated my collarbone. I ignored it.

"Natasha and Gamora said I needed you?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah." Ned's voice became colder. "They explained once I got here that you were in critical condition because you've taken four months of beatings that should have been mine. Is that true? Did Flash's cousins beat you up instead of me?"

I winced. I hadn't wanted him to know, but I guess it was too late now.

"Not exactly," I lied.

I couldn't see him in the dark, but I knew he didn't believe me.

"Okay, yes," I admitted. "But…"

"No, there's no buts, Peter!" Ned interrupted. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I have super strength, I can take a couple beatings!"

"Obviously not."

I fell silent.

"I'm not a little kid, Peter, you don't have to protect me!"

"But I want to!" I shot back angrily. "I can protect you, so I should. You're my best friend, Ned, and if anything ever happened to you, I'd…I'd feel responsible."

"Why?"

"Because…just because."

"Because of Ben?" He asked softly. I felt my eyes fill with tears. Luckily it was still dark, so Ned couldn't see me crying, but I think he knew. He moved his left hand so now both of his hands were holding my right one.

"I couldn't save him," I whispered. "I couldn't protect him from what happened, and he

died because of it. You're my best friend. I had the opportunity to protect you, so I had to take it. It doesn't matter what it costs me, it never will. But you have to be safe. As long as you and May and everyone are safe, I don't care what happens to me." I tried to wipe away the tears that slipped down my cheeks, but the clumsy cast on my hand got in the way.

"Peter…" Ned breathed. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think…" He trailed off.

"Promise you'll never hide anything like this from me again."

"Ned, I can't-"

"Promise." He said firmly. His tone was actually almost as intimidating as the one Natasha uses when she's had enough of someone's bullshit. I was impressed.

"I promise." I said, and I really meant it.

* * *

 **A lot of people seemed to like the last chapter, hopefully this one didn't disappoint.**

 **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter,** **I'm glad you all liked it!**

 **Again, I'm open to suggestions if anyone has something they particularly want Peter to go through. I love torturing my spider baby and then giving him a friend to help him through it. So any ideas, feel free to leave a review with them. Also any more characters you would like to see have a big part in a chapter or two.**


	8. Bully Part III

**What? Part 3?! How did that happen?**

 **I don't know why, but I love this bullying story line.**

"Richard and Oscar Thompson, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, please report to Room 204."

The order echoed throughout the cafeteria and I could feel my face heating up as hundreds of eyes turned to stare at me and Ned as we stood to go to the assigned room, Ned grabbing my crutches for me. From across the room, Rick and Oscar's glares of hatred threatened to burn literal holes in my head. I tried to ignore them, but I couldn't help it when my heart began to beat faster in fear and anticipation.

Ever since a month and a half ago when the Avengers found out about my daily beating sessions with Rick and Oscar, and after several of them (cough cough Nat, Gamora, Clint) had a "conversation" with the bullies, they'd pretty much left me and Ned alone, which I was grateful for. Sure, there were still death glares all during class and "accidents" in the hallway where they would bump into me and make me drop all my books, but nothing more physical than that.

But now, making our way to Room 204, I couldn't help being terrified. I still wasn't 100% healed from the last time they attacked me, so if they were stupid enough to try anything, I wouldn't be able to protect Ned. My left knee hadn't healed completely, it was such a bad break. I still had to use crutches to get around since it couldn't handle any weight. I shared a scared glance with my best friend, both of us knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

The instant we stepped into Room 204, all four of our jaws dropped to the floor. Principle Morita was lounging against the desk at the front; he was the only person in the room any of us were expecting to see.

Mr. and Mrs. Leeds stood awkwardly by the door, greeting Ned with massive hugs when we walked in and gracing me with grateful, if somewhat nervous, smiles. Across the room, another man and woman lounged in front of the windows. They were both tall and large, and looked like everyone else in the room was beneath them. I assumed they were Rick and Oscar's parents.

Aunt May stood slightly to the left of Ned's parents, and when we came in she pulled me into a loving embrace.

The rest of the room was filled with a group of people who I never would have expected to see at my school, not even in my wildest dreams.

Steve-no, sorry, Captain America (he was wearing his full uniform) stood beside Aunt May with his arms crossed, his shield slung on his back. Tony stood on May's other side, his Iron Man suit standing empty but in an intimidating stance right behind him. Rhodey was right beside him, his suit mimicking Tony's. Thor had placed his hammer on a desk and stood near it with a fierce expression. Bruce, fortunately, had not Hulked out, and stood as himself between Doctor Strange and Sam, both wearing their complete outfits.

Scott was lounging near the back of the room, and I'm not even kidding, he had used the Ant-Man suit to make himself like a foot and a half bigger. His head was almost knocking against the ceiling. Groot had done the same thing, stretching his legs to appear taller. Rockitt sat on his shoulder, casually resting one of his favorite laser-space gun things on his shoulder. Drax sat on a table in the middle of the room. I was kind of worried the table would crack under his weight, but he looked intimidating as fuck so I wasn't about to tell him to move. Mantis sat beside him, trying to look scary but failing. It was kind of sweet. Peter Quill stood beside her, trying to look scary but failing. It was absolutely pathetic and hilarious.

Vision and Wanda stood together, Wanda's eyes literally glowing red. It made her look totally scary and badass, and I was super grateful that she was my friend and not my enemy. Natasha and Gamora had that look again, the one where they want to kill someone. Clint stood slightly behind them with his bow in hand, an arrow already on the string. I don't know how legal it was for any of them to have weapons on school property, but I did know that there was no way Principal Morita or anyone was going to ask them to leave them outside.

As soon as May had released me from her hug, Bucky had moved to stand behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders, as if daring anyone to even think about harming me.

Every single one of my friends looked dead serious and kept their eyes on Rick and Oscar as they walked across the room to be with their parents. Their faces were stone cold and emotionless, their eyes promising death if they so much as looked at me wrong. The bullies withered under their stares, seeming to shrink to half of their former arrogance and swagger. It felt surprisingly good to see them so scared, and glancing over at Ned, I knew he felt the same way. Actually, all my friends probably did.

Principal Morita cleared his throat.

"Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me today," he began cautiously. "It has come to my attention that there has been a misunderstanding between some of my students. I felt it was duty to alert the parents and…guardians of the students involved." He said the word "guardians" warily, glancing at all the mighty heroes who had casually assembled at a high school.

"Excuse me, misunderstanding?" Steve said in a quietly outraged voice. "Is that what you would call it when two older, larger boys corner one of their fellow students in the school parking lot and beat him within an inch of his life?"

Principal Morita looked uncomfortable, obviously regretting his word choice.

"You can't prove that was us!" Rick broke in. "For all you know the little shit beat himself up and just wants to get me and Oscar in trouble."

Almost twenty-five pairs of eyes glared at Rick with a newfound fury at the audacity of that suggestion.

"You really believe that could happen?" Bucky asked. His voice was quiet but oh so menacing. Rick looked uncomfortable. "Putting aside the fact that I got a good look at both of you before you ran off like the cowards you are, do you really think it's plausible that Peter would injure himself like that on purpose? Do you even know what condition he was in when I found him in that parking lot?"

The two boys stayed silent and still.

"Four of the ribs on his right side were shattered," Bucky continued. "He had a broken collarbone, a smashed nose, two black eyes. His entire neck was bruised from where you tried to strangle him. Should I keep going?"

"Was that the full extent of Mr. Parker's injuries?" Morita asked in a low voice. Several of my friends let out short laughs completely devoid of humor.

"Not even close," Doctor Strange chimed in. "Peter also sustained injuries to both hands, including four broken fingers on his right hand and three on his left, as well as a broken wrist. His left ankle was also dislocated, and his left knee was hurt so badly that it required over fourteen hours of surgery to attempt to correct it. It still hasn't healed, has you can see." He motioned to my crutches.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Oscar said in a small voice. If he hadn't hurt me and threatened my best friend for four months, I would have almost felt sorry for him for how scared he looked that something he had done had hurt someone so much. He looked like he was literally about to start crying. A flare of pain from my knee shot up my leg, and suddenly all the pity I could have felt for either of them vanished.

"He was in agony!" Peter Quill exclaimed suddenly. "Normal painkillers had no effect, so he felt the full force of the pain, the pain you forced on him, you damn idiots."

"Dude, it's okay." I said, trying to calm him down. His face turned red from the exertion of suppressing his anger, but he kept it in for my sake. I was grateful.

"Mrs. Parker, what do you have to say about all this?" Morita turned to Aunt May, who had yet to explode at anyone. "From this discussion, I think you and your nephew would be well within your rights to press charges if you wish to."

Aunt May and I shared a look. We both knew that pressing charges would be the best way to make Rick and Oscar pay for their actions, but any kind of legal action could potentially lead to the discovery that I'm Spiderman, if doctors needed to examine me, for example. Or if questions were asked about how I healed from the injuries so quickly. But maybe it would be worth it, to make sure that neither of them could hurt people like that again.

Luckily for us, Tony had been his usual over-the-top overprotective self and already had a plan in place. He took a step closer to us and said in a lowered but not too quiet voice, "I have an army of lawyers lined up . Just say the word and I can have them pull up enough evidence to send those two to the slammer for life."

"Tony, it wasn't bad enough for that," I insisted. "It's not like they killed me."

"But they could have, Pete," Bucky chimed in. "If they had continued like they were when I found you, you most definitely would have died. Any normal person would have." He gave me a very pointed looked and stressed the word normal, reminding me that I had to play the part of a regular human being who could be easily killed.

I sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "Fine," I said. "We'll press charges, but Tony, tell your lawyers to go easy on them."

Bucky clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"You're too good for this world, Peter," he said. I smiled sarcastically.

"So I've been told."

* * *

 **Sorry if this chapter was really crappy.**

 **So I was thinking of adding a Part 4, if that wouldn't be overdoing it. I thought it might be cool for Rick and Oscar to try to get revenge, and maybe corner Peter in his apartment when May isn't there and keep him there for like a week while starving/torturing him. What do you guys think? Too much? Or definitely yes it would be the best thing ever? Or, cool idea but maybe it's time to move on from this story line?**


	9. Bully Part IV

**I wasn't sure if I should do a fourth part, but several people seemed to like the idea, so here you go! But this will definitely be the last of this story line. If anyone has ideas about specific things they want to read next, I'm always open to suggestions. Even if I don't write about your idea right away, I will definitely be considering everything I get because I'm cruel and love hurting Peter so much. But he's always happy in the end, so it's not too cruel!**

 **WARNING-contains mentions of a drug overdose, plus hallucinations and vomiting, excessive bleeding, stuff like that. Personally I don't think it's that gross, but then again I don't get grossed out by much, so... Anyway, be warned that there is potentially gross stuff in here.**

* * *

By mid summer, all the legal processes had wrapped up. Since Rick and Oscar were minors and because I didn't want to press them too hard, they ended up with 200 hours of community service each, and a restraining order was put in place. Neither one of them was legally allowed to be within fifty feet of me, which I was eternally grateful for.

The rest of the school year had been interesting, to say the least. Soon enough everyone found out about the whole situation and so of course that was all anyone could talk about. It was kind of embarrassing to be stared at in the hallways all the time, and even more embarrassing to be known as the guy who was making a really big deal out of a little bullying, but nothing really bad happened.

The Avengers, being the possessive, overprotective older siblings they were, began showing up after school every day just to escort me home and make sure no one tried anything. Luckily not all of them came every day, usually it was in groups of two or three, but enough of them to let people know that they wouldn't tolerate anyone messing with me. People got the message and left me alone, so that was nice.

Ned became more protective than ever. He barely ever left my side during school, and would only leave at the end of the day once he saw that one or more of the Avengers were waiting for me. During the afternoon and on weekends he would text every hour to make sure I was okay.

It was really nice that everyone cared so much about me, but it didn't take long for me to get super fed up with the whole situation. Finally one night, after Ned asked Bucky and Steve to literally drive to my apartment to make sure I was okay since I had stopped answering his texts, I asked everyone to calm down about everything. Actually, I demanded it. I may or may not have raised my voice a little bit. Spoiler alert, I did. I yelled. A lot.

But it worked. Everyone began giving me more space and gradually everything calmed down.

But of course, as my stupid Parker luck would have it, the calm didn't last.

I had long since healed from when Bucky found me in the parking lot, my only injuries being ones that I got when out at night as Spiderman. This, and the fact that school was over and I spent most of my time at the Avengers Compound, is what helped Aunt May in making the decision to accept an invitation from one of her friends from work to spend a week in Florida. It was the type of thing she'd always wanted to do, but hadn't been able to since Uncle Ben died because she wasn't willing to leave me by myself. But now that I had twenty of the strongest and mightiest heroes in the world (and galaxy) as my best friends, she was a little more comfortable with the idea of leaving for a little bit.

I was supposed to spend the first three days at the compound with the Avengers, and then the rest of the week with Ned and his family at the beach. It was going to be the best week of my life, the thing I'd been looking forward to all summer. But no, why would ever get to do the thing I wanted to do more than anything? That's too nice for me. But don't worry, I'm totally not bitter about it.

In case you couldn't tell, yeah, I'm bitter. It's not fair that I never get to do what I want. It makes me really mad. Oh well.

I was packing for my stay at the compound when they came.

My spider-sense told me there was danger before I opened the door. Usually I was really good about listening to my spider-sense, especially when I was at home, but since May wasn't there (she'd left with her friends the night before), I figured I could handle any danger that came my way. So I opened the door, which turned out to be the most idiotic decision I'd ever made, and I'm not exactly known for having great common sense.

Two tall figures stood outside my apartment, wearing sweaters with the hoods pulled down to throw shadows on their faces, but I knew who they were immediately. I tried to push the door closed as soon as I recognized them, but Rick and Oscar were stronger than scrawny Peter Parker should be and pushed their way into the apartment. Only after they were inside did they close the door, and locked it with a sickening thud which seemed to echo throughout the room and spell my impending doom.

None of us spoke, trying to stare down the others. I knew I could easily beat them if it came down to it, but I knew that I shouldn't. It would raise suspicion. With a sinking heart I realized that I was going to have to take whatever beating they had planned, unless by some miracle help came before that.

A sudden spark of hope illuminated my hopeless situation as I remembered that the Avengers were expecting me to be done packing within an hour or two, and then Steve and Bucky were going to pick me up and bring me to the compound. If I could just hold out for an hour… Then again, I thought, continuing to glare at my tormentors, if I could get to my phone and press the panic button that Tony had installed for situations like this, it would only take like ten minutes for Tony and Rhodey to be there in their full metal suits. Even Thor might show up, since he could fly too. And Sam, for that matter.

I moved my hand to quickly grab my phone from my pocket, but realized with dread at the last second that I had stupidly left it in my bedroom when I went to answer the door. Rick and Oscar both saw me move my hand and were on me right away, before I could even think about running to get my phone. They tackled me to the ground, both their full weights landing directly on top of me. I hit the floor hard and hissed in pain as my ribs took most of the force of the fall. That was definitely going to bruise.

"You're gonna pay for ratting us out, Parker," Rick growled in my ear. "After we're done with you, you're gonna wish you'd never been born."

"Can't say I haven't wished that before," I quipped, knowing that joking about the situation definitely was not going to help me but unable to stop myself anyway. "Also, just FYI, that threat is super cliche. You might wanna think of something better before the next time you threaten some-"

Before I could finish my insult, Rick cut me off with a really hard hit across my jaw. My teeth slammed into each other, and blood filled my mouth from where my tongue was caught between my teeth and from the empty socket where a tooth had fallen loose. The force of his punch made my head snap against the floor really hard, and dots swam in front of my eyes.

"Tha's not cool, dude," I said weakly, my words slurring together slightly as my eyes crossed and uncrossed. Rick's eyes hardened.

"No, Parker, you know what's not cool?" He asked ferociously. "It's not cool to be stared at in school and made fun of for being the guys who got a freaking restraining order because some disgusting little wimp couldn't handle a few punches!"

"If you didn't want to get in trouble, maybe you shouldn't've attacked me," I suggested, forgetting briefly that, while my argument made sense, Rick didn't care much about that kind of thing. Sure enough, he wasn't happy with me talking back to him. He hit me again and again, and I could feel my nose snap under the force of his blows. Great. Just great. I absolutely loved having a broken nose.

Finally he stopped, but I didn't get much of a break. Through my unsteady vision and the blood dripping into my eyes I could see Oscar picking up the wooden baseball bat that my dad had given me for my sixth birthday, right before and my mom died. Tears filled my eyes, both from the throbbing pain of my broken nose and from the thought that the last present my dad ever gave me was going to be used to inflict untold amounts of pain on me.

"No no no, please not that!" I begged, the tears now streaming unchecked down my cheeks. "Please, use anything else in this apartment, but not that!"

Immediately I knew I had said the wrong thing, as an evil glint appeared in both their eyes.

"Aww look, puny Peter doesn't want us to wreck his cute wittle baseball bat," Oscar said in an exaggerated baby voice. He lifted the bat and brought it down on me as hard as he could. Several ribs cracked with more hits, along with my left hip. And those weren't the only things that cracked. The baseball bat wasn't exactly new, and it fractured under so much force. Oscar stared in contempt at the two halves of the bat and threw it down on the floor. I couldn't stop the tears that flowed freely from my eyes at the sight.

"What's wrong, Peter? Did your mommy give you this before she died?"

The feeling of intense hatred which seemed to accumulate in every particle of my being as he taunted me burned and grew until I could hold it back no more. He could hurt me all he wanted, but there was no way on Earth I was going to let him say anything about my mother. I staggered drunkenly to my feet. The floor seemed to tilt and sway beneath me as I rushed toward both of them, but I ignored it and focused only on the rush of adrenaline which fueled me enough to throw myself on top of them and begin hitting, completely ignoring the burning of my broken ribs and hip.

I can't even describe how fortunate I was that I still has some semblance of control over myself, allowing me to limit how hard I hit them, or they both would have died under my punches. Rick struggled out from under me and wrapped his thick arm around my neck, effectively cutting off my air supply. My grasp on Oscar weakened and fell away as I moved my hands to scratch at his arm and try to restore my ability to breathe.

"Oscar, get the bag!" I could hear Rick shouting through the rush of blood in my ears. His grip was beginning to loosen and I felt a surge of hope, but it disappeared in an instant as I felt a cold needle slip into my arm, and an even colder liquid was injected into my bloodstream.

Everything started getting a little blurrier, and Rick and Oscar's voices sounded like they were coming through a layer of water which covered my entire head but didn't quite have enough strength to knock me out. A thought appeared in my brain, accompanied by the dull worry that they had tried to drug me into unconsciousness. Drugging someone like that never implied good intentions, but I knew the drug wouldn't work on my completely because of my enhanced metabolism. Even as these thoughts rattled around my brain I could feel my body burning through the drug like it was nothing.

"Why isn't he unconscious?" Rick's distorted voice came through the fog in my brain.

"I dunno, I gave him the full amount," Oscar replied.

"He looks like he's getting more alert."

Their faces swam into my view, staring down at me with a mixture of confusion and worry on their faces.

Staring down. Huh, that was weird. I didn't remember how I ended up on the floor. Why did my head hurt so much? And why did all the lights suddenly seem really bright?

"Are you sure you gave him the full amount?" Rick asked. Oscar held up an empty syringe as proof. Rick looked back and forth between me and the syringe before shrugged nonchalantly and reaching for the small black backpack they had brought with them. He pulled out a bottle which was almost full of some kind of liquid, then casually refilled the syringe.

"Hold him down," he ordered his brother. Oscar almost gleefully knelt down and pinned my arms and legs to the floor. It was pretty pointless though, because even if I had understood what they were doing, I wasn't coherent enough to do anything about it.

Rick grabbed my right arm and, after locating the biggest vein, stabbed the needle in and injected the liquid directly into my bloodstream. I could feel it travelling throughout my body, and I knew it was doing something, but I guess they couldn't see it. Rick filled the syringe again and injected me again. He kept doing that until the bottle was pretty much empty.

By that point, everything had started to seem a little…weird. I felt kind of floaty and empty, like a bubble. Except not like a bubble because there was something inside me. It felt like, maybe a snake? It was crawling, trying to get out by forcing its way up my throat. I opened my mouth to let it out, but something else came out instead. A liquid spilled out of my mouth covering my face and my clothes and the floor around my head. It got stuck in my mouth and I choked on it while trying to breathe. I wanted to turn over and get it out of my mouth, but all of my muscles were being weird. They felt tense, but at the same time they felt like limp noodles too weak to do anything with. I couldn't control them at all, so I just lay there instead, casually choking on my own vomit.

"Why's he throwing up?" Oscar asked in a panic. Rick shrugged. He seemed kind of bored with the whole situation, which I didn't think was very nice. He could at least be cruel enough to be amused by what he had done to me.

"Probably an overdose," he said.

Probably? I thought. You gave me the whole freaking bottle you moron, of course it's an overdose. I was starting to feel light headed, and the room was tilting all around me. With one hand I grabbed onto the rug beneath me so I wouldn't go flying when the floor tipped again. I wasn't choking on my own vomit anymore though, so that was good. Then again, was I even breathing? I couldn't tell.

I'd heard that hallucinations were a common side effect of drug overdoses, so I wasn't that freaked out when a green lady with red hair kicked the front door open and pointed two badass looking guns at the two guys near me. That was weird. I thought I knew their names, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what they were. Oh well, couldn't have been that important.

A robot followed the green lady into my apartment, and there was a guy with a metal arm behind him. I still don't think I was breathing, which was too bad because I wanted to laugh at how funny it was that aliens and robots were showing up at my house. Except maybe the robot guy wasn't a robot because his head folded down and there was another one underneath. I think I liked that one better. It had nice eyes, even though they were full of tears for some reason. Why was robot dude crying? It didn't seem very nice.

"Don't worry, Peter, you're gonna be okay," he said as he knelt down beside me. I wonder who Peter was?

The dude with the metal arm had a friend now, some really muscular blonde guy who was helping him restrain the two guys who had been in the room with me. I wonder why they were restraining them. Did they hurt someone?

"He's not breathing!" I heard someone yell, and these two other dudes bent over me. Oh did they mean me? Did they mean that I wasn't breathing? Well that was nothing new, I hadn't been breathing for…as long as I could remember.

"Peter, can you hear me?" One of the new guys asked me. He was wearing a weird red cloak that kept moving by itself, which was weird. Who was this Peter they kept going on about?

"Get him on his side!" Another voice said. "The vomit is clogging his airway, he can't breathe."

Gentle hands turned me on my right side, which was lucky because my left side felt like it was on fire. It felt like several ribs were broken, by for the life of me I couldn't figure out how that happened. Everything seemed kind of foggy and detached, which I didn't like.

Someone was doing something to me, and then suddenly I could breathe again! I coughed violently, trying to suck in sweet air which I hadn't realized I missed so much. I actually laughed in relief, which just made the people around me look more worried, and the gentle hands came again, running over my ribs to try to assess my injuries, I guess.

"We have to get him back to the compound now." An impatient voice said firmly. More hands came, shifting me and moving like they were trying to get me onto a stretcher or something. But before they could lift me, several of my muscles tensed, and then I began shaking uncontrollably.

"He's having a seizure!"

"Stay back, give him space!"

More voices were coming now, sounding increasingly panicked. The hands let go of me, allowing me to seize and shake without interference. The voices were still talking hurriedly and worriedly (hehe, that rhymes), but they were becoming harder and harder to hear distinctly. I couldn't tell what they were saying, and everything was starting to go black. Everything faded away.

* * *

I opened my eyes slowly, subconsciously thankful that the lights in the room were dimmed to my comfort level.

The first thing I noticed when I became fully aware of my surroundings was that I was in a room at the Avengers Compound. The second thing I noticed was that the Avengers were in the room with me. They were scattered around the fairly large area, mostly in groups of two or three. They were all asleep, which was good because it looked like they needed the rest. They had dark circles under their eyes and the distinct look of people who have been awake for days.

I wondered briefly how long I had been asleep, but didn't have the energy to try and figure it out. Gazing around the room I felt a warmth spreading throughout my body as I thought about how lucky I was that I had so many amazing people to love me and take care of me.

My ribs and hip felt sore, and I knew the effects of the overdose would probably take longer to go away, but it didn't matter, because I knew in that moment that no matter what, the Avengers would always be around to help me and to get me through whatever it was I was going through.

With that thought, I closed my eyes again and allowed myself to slip into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

* * *

 **So this is the end of the Bully, hopefully it lived up to your expectations. Sorry it took so long. I meant to post this sometime last week, but then life happened and I forgot to keep writing. But here it is!**

 **I have an idea for the next chapter which should be coming soon (fingers crossed), but again, if anyone has ideas for what they want to see, feel free to put it in a review or to PM me.**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you'll stick around for more!**


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